A Man of Many Talents
by x Varda x
Summary: Neal gets drugged and thinks the feds are after him again. It all goes downhill from there.  Gen.


**Title:** A Man of Many Talents  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Characters:<strong> Neal, Peter. Gen  
><strong>Words:<strong> 1948  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Neal gets drugged and thinks the feds are after him again. It all goes downhill from there.

**A/N:** Written for the second of **Kriadydragon**'s prompts over on Livejournal's** Collarcorner**

xxx**  
><strong>

"I'm not sure what you want," Neal said in an uneven voice. "I can charm anyone out of anything. I could get you a pony."

The rest of the team were listening in the van and Peter frowned as he held the headphone to his ear. "Is he drunk?"

Their target spoke next. "I don't want that. But I do want some answers. Where did you come from, Nick?"

Neal's voice slurred alarmingly as he spoke. "My imagination. Some guys told me you were doing bad things with stolen artwork."

Peter dropped the headphones. "Gear up, his cover's blown."

"You see my name isn't actually Nick. I'm Neal, pleased to meet you. I have to say that your wine tastes kinda funny." He started to laugh.

And that's how Peter, Jones and Diana found him. Neal was laughing and grinning even as the three goons he was playing poker with aimed their guns at him.

"FBI! Drop your weapons!"

Backup burst in behind them and heavily armed and armoured FBI personnel swarmed in. Three guns lowered and were dropped, then the men were cuffed and led away.

Peter holstered his gun and went over to Neal who was... _giggling._"This isn't funny, Neal. You were lucky they didn't kill you and you've blown our case."

Neal stopped laughing and Peter wasn't sure whether to be grateful or unnerved by the silence. Neal grabbed a chip from the table and studied it closely with wide eyes, then bit down on it. "Fake."

Peter edged towards Neal, afraid of what might happen if he startled the man. He sensed Jones and Diana behind him.

"Neal?" Peter said quietly.

That was all it took for Neal to turn around and jump out of his chair. He eyed the badges around Diana and Jones' necks and Peter's gun.

"Feds! Why do you always have to keep ruining everything I'm trying to do?"

Peter held up his hands placatingly. "Neal, it's all right. We're your friends, remember? I think you've been drugged." Peter pointed to the half empty wine glass. "Jones, get a sample of that wine. Let's find out what we're dealing with."

Neal's wide eyes darted around between the three people facing him. All of a sudden, he rushed Peter, planting a fist firmly into Peter's nose. While Peter staggered backwards, Neal tried to dodge around Diana and Jones, but Diana caught hold of his wrist and twisted his arm up against his back.

Neal cried out in pain and frustration and struggled. Diana said, "Stay still, Caffrey. You okay, boss?"

Peter rubbed at his nose and winced, it wasn't bleeding, but it sure hurt. So much for not letting Neal learn how to fight - the man had a mean right hook. "Cuff him and I'll take him to the hospital in the car."

Diana dragged Neal away while Jones handed Peter a container with the wine. "Thanks, Jones. Run cleanup with the others and I'll join you back at the office when Neal's in the hospital."

Neal was worryingly quiet as he stared down into his lap while Peter drove them. His hands were cuffed behind his back and Diana had belted him into the front seat.

"Don't pick them," Peter said. "Or I'll have to get the rope out."

Neal looked up. "You have rope?"

"Sure thing. I know you can pick the locks. Nearly there now."

Headlights flashed past them in the dark.

xxx

Neal's heart raced in panic. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He was cuffed and caught yet again by the same infernal FBI agent. But he wasn't in prison yet. There was still a chance. Picking the lock was easy. Escaping from a moving car would be harder. The handcuffs slipped off and he unbuckled the belt.

"What are you doing, Neal?"

"I'm not going back."

"I'm taking you to hospital. You've been drugged by something. I don't know what but it's made you a little loopy."

Neal pulled the seatbelt off and in a couple of seconds he had the door unlocked. Peter made a grab for his arm, but he slipped out of his grasp as he flung the door open and jumped out before he changed his mind.

The ground was hard and unforgiving as Neal landed and rolled over and over, trying the spread the impact out but only succeeding in bruising himself everywhere. The adrenaline kept any pain at bay and he forced himself to stand and run. He discarded his jacket which was torn and bloody and put as much distance as he could between himself and the feds.

He wasn't going back to prison this time.

xxx

"I need backup now," Peter said into his phone. Diana was on the other end of the line, nearly back at the office. "Neal got out of the cuffs and jumped out of the car."

"Is he hurt?" Diana may outwardly seem indifferent to Neal, but Peter could hear a faint tone of concern in her voice.

"I don't know. I slowed right down when I saw what he was doing and he was able to get up and run, but I don't know what effect this drug is having on him."

xxx

Neal kept on running, his heart beating faster in his chest and his feet pounding on the ground. The feds were onto him and the only thing he could do was put as much distance between them and himself. His white shirt was dirty and crumpled and spotted with blood, but his injuries, whatever they were, were a small price to pay for freedom.

Something was rubbing at his ankle, slowing him down. He stopped on a patch of dirt ground and leant against the concrete pillar holding up the road overhead. Before he knew it, he was sliding down and his butt hit the dirt. He panted harshly as he examined the black device around his ankle. Pulling at it yielded no result, it was stuck fast and he didn't have anything to cut it with.

"A tracker." He sighed. "I'll never escape."

Neal tried to pick it, but it was impossible as it was electronic, not mechanical. Breathing heavily, he let a small desperate cry of frustration escape him. He swiped at his eyes as his heart clenched painfully. There was nothing around he could use, even the rusty metal he found slipped against the device, cutting his clothes and slicing his leg, but only making a thin scratch on the beacon. The blood was dark and sticky as it ran over his hands.

For some reason, his breathing wasn't slowing down and his heart kept on pounding painfully fast as though he was still running. He clutched his chest, further staining his ruined shirt and closed his eyes tightly. They were going to catch him and then it would be all bars and boredom and orange jumpsuits until he had utterly forgotten himself and who he could've been.

xxx

Peter easily found Neal using the tracking data, but then the man hadn't moved for the last ten minutes. Peter was afraid of what he might find, but was relieved to find Neal was still alive. He was hurt, but how badly, Peter couldn't tell in the dim lighting. There was blood soaking through his shirt and dripping down into the light coloured dirt he was sitting on. There were cuts and blood streaks across his face.

"Neal, your leg..."

Looking down at what Peter saw, Neal shrugged and closed his eyes as he tilted his head back against the wall. "I can't feel it. I assume you've come to take me in again? It doesn't seem to matter how fast I run, I can't get away from you."

"I'm like a cockroach. No matter how hard you try to get rid of me, I'll always come back."

Neal pushed against the ground and tried to stand, but Peter was there resting a hand on his shoulder. "Easy. Don't move."

Neal sunk back down with an exhale. "Or you'll shoot?" Sirens sounded in the distance and Neal's head twitched towards them as his eyes widened.

"It's only an ambulance, I swear." Peter thought that Neal seemed more lucid now than he had before - less confused, more compliant - but maybe that was due to his injuries more than the drug wearing off.

Neal's eyes fluttered shut, then snapped open, "Oh." His bruised face twisted in a grimace and he curled a hand around his side.

"Pain?"

"A little. What happened? I don't remember."

The ambulance pulled up, luckily there was access to the place where Neal had finally decided to collapse.

Peter told the EMTs about the unknown drug and how Neal had jumped out of a moving car. It was impossible for Peter to hide the sympathetic wince when they cut away Neal's clothes to apply bandages to the worst of the scrapes.

"You got a key to that thing?" one asked with a gesture at the tracker.

Peter rode in the back of the ambulance in case Neal woke up and tried to escape again. The anklet came off with his key and the extent of the laceration to Neal's leg became apparent.

"He tried to cut it off?"

"Apparently so."

xxx

Peter visited Neal in hospital the next day, relieving the FBI sentry for a few minutes. He was surprised to find Neal awake and looking sad as he picked at the scrubs he was wearing. They'd cleaned his face, but the bruises were stark against his pale skin. There was a IV line in his hand and his bare arms were covered in bruises ranging from red to black.

Peter said, "Hey."

Neal stopped picking and looked up with a smile when he saw who it was, "Oh hey, Peter. What happened to your face?"

Peter touched his nose gently as he sat down in the chair beside the bed. "Feeling better?"

"Much. They said I could leave soon if I behave."

"You'll be pleased to hear that we got a warrant for the place last night and found the missing artwork."

Neal smiled again, but his face quickly fell and he rested a hand over his midsection. "Ouch."

"Want me to call someone?"

"No, it's fine. Mostly bruising and cuts they stitched and bandaged up."

Peter searched Neal's face in concern. "And minor internal bleeding."

"Oh that. They told you?"

Peter sighed. "They had to. They also said the drug is out of your system now and something about it causing hallucinations and regression, not to mention confusion."

Neal pushed on the bed to try and sit up, but sunk back down with a wince. "What did I do?"

"Tried to cut your leg off to remove the anklet. I also found out that you flinging yourself out of moving cars without killing yourself is a part of your skillset."

"Oh, well, you know me - I'm a man of many talents."

"And many faces." Peter pulled the new tracking anklet out of his pocket. The bloodsoaked, scratched one from the night before had been quickly thrown away.

Neal eyed it. "You know I have a cut on my leg?"

"Good thing you've got two legs," Peter said as he clipped it around Neal's right ankle.

"Wow, thanks. I feel better already."

Peter left and passed Moz on the way out. "Make sure he stays in here until he's well enough to leave."

Moz eyed Peter suspiciously. "Fear not, suit. I brought plenty of bendy straws and sudoku."

Peter narrowed his eyes at the large bag Moz was carrying, but decided not to ask what was really in there.


End file.
